Speaking the Truth
by Rorylie
Summary: Jaimie takes Dean to a strip club to cheer him up and he forces her to confront the truth. Written for LJ's small fandomfest, prompt strip club.


Jaimie stepped into the office, watching Dean slam things around, jumping when something he threw hit the wall next to her head.

"Carter's a fucking bastard," he muttered.

"Agreed," she murmured.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, finally really looking at her.

She shrugged. "Ty called. What's going on?"

Dean laughed darkly. "Ty's busy with his wife, so he sent you in as his replacement so he doesn't have to feel bad about ditching me."

"What happened?" she pressed.

"Carter happened," he snapped. And he's wrong. I could do this job, I have them right where I wanted them."

"The Marlow thing?" she asked.

He nodded. "He's pulling me."

"Why?" Jaimie asked, frowning.

"Fuck if I know."

"You wanna talk about it?" she asked, studying him.

"No, I didn't grow a fucking vagina when we stopped fucking."

She shook her head. "You want to go to a bar or something?"

"Plenty to drink right here."

"This is the last place you need to be," she insisted. "And there are no women taking their clothes off."

He looked back at her. "What kind of bars have you been going to, sweetheart?"

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Once she had Dean settled at the one of the tables, Jaimie made her way to the bar. The bartender smiled at her, reaching for a bottle.

"Usual?" he asked.

She nodded, taking the bottle of tequila and glasses he handed her. "Is Barbie here?"

"She's in the back. You want me to send her out?"

"Yeah," Jaimie murmured.

"Hey, the boss man's in the back, too, so you guys can't put on one of your little shows like the last couple of times. He'll kick you out."

"Oh," Jaimie said, shaking her head. "I don't think you have to worry about that. We'll be on our best behavior."

She walked back over to Dean, pouring both of them glasses and sitting across from him.

"Is she new?" she asked, watching the girl dancing on the stage.

Dean shrugged, never looking at her.

"Heard you guys were out here," Barbie said, sauntering over to them.

Jaimie pulled out a handful of bills and held them up to the woman.

"You dancing tonight?" Barbie asked her.

"Not tonight," Jaimie said with a tight smile. "But Dean's had a rough day, I thought maybe you could cheer him up."

"Sure thing," she said, taking the money from Jaimie.

Jaimie slid the rest of the money and the bottle of tequila across the table towards Dean, sitting back in her chair.

"You know what I love about strippers?" Dean asked as Barbie started grinding against him.

"Hmm," Jaimie murmured. "Tits and ass."

"No," Dean said. "Though yours are great," he added to Barbie, who smiled at him. "It's just a nice, simple, no bullshit relationship."

Jaimie shook her head. "That's because it's not a relationship, it's a business transaction. It's commerce. But I guess that would be your favorite kind of relationship, huh? Somebody who gets paid to put up with you."

His lips curled into a mean smile. "Why don't you go call Scotty, have him come down and meet us? Oh wait, he still won't answer your calls."

Jaimie shook her head. "You're such a bastard," she hissed. She stood up. "And I'm not getting paid to put up with your bullshit right now, so I'm done. You wanna fuck everything up for yourself, go for it. Just don't call me when you need help fixing it."

"Feeling's mutual, sweetheart," he called after her as she stomped away. "What?" he demanded when Barbie stared at him. "You think I'm gonna run after her and chase her down like this is some damn romantic comedy?"

Barbie shrugged. "I'm not your girlfriend, or your priest, or your therapist. You can save the excuses for someone else."

Dean shook his head. "I don't give a fuck what she does."

Barbie leaned closer to him. "That is some bullshit sweetheart."

Dean growled, pushing back from the table and storming out.

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She'd changed into a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt by the time she answered the door for him.

She sighed, shaking her head. "I meant what I said, Dean, I'm done with the bullshit."

"Cause you're completely drama free," he muttered.

"What have I ever done to you," she demanded, "except date a nice guy?"

"He wasn't that nice."

"You don't even know him," she protested.

"You made me a pretty intricate damn part of your relationship."

"Right," she said. "I handcuffed you to the damn bed, the wall, the table, the desk, the counter, every other damn place we had sex."

"No, I wanted everything that happened between us to happen as much as you did. Maybe more. But this," he said, gesturing between the two of them. "I don't want this, whatever we have now."

She shook her head. "I tried to be nice to you, I tried to be your friend."

"We were never friends," he snapped. "We'll never be friends."

"Because you hate me so damn much."

"I don't fucking hate you and you know it."

She shook her head again. "I'm not doing this with you."

"Doing what?" he pressed. "Being honest for once?"

"You treat me like crap," she said. "That's honest."

"And you treat me, what, great?"

"I don't know how to treat you," she shrugged. "I tried to be your friend and look how you treat me."

"Because I don't want you to be my goddamn friend!"

"You should go, Dean," she said. "Just go."

"I can't be your friend," he said more quietly, reaching for her. He kissed her, roughly, deeply, passionately, fingers twisting in her hair. "I want so much more of you, I can't settle for being your friend. Stop asking me too."

She stared at him for a long moment before wrapping her arms around his neck. The stripped quickly, backing into her bed eventually and falling onto it together, desperate for each other, touching, tasting, taking.

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Jaimie was still in bed next to him when he woke up but she was sitting up, the sheet wrapped around her body.

"How long have you been awake?" he murmured, reaching for her, fingers running over her bare back.

She shrugged.

"Talk to me sweetheart," he said.

She sighed. "This was never the problem," she said, gesturing to the bed. "This doesn't change anything, this doesn't help, this is the only thing we've ever been able to figure out."

He nodded. "You want me to go?"

"No. I just…I don't want it to be so hard all the time, I don't want to keep fighting, I don't want to feel like you hate me."

"I could never hate you." He paused. "I love you, Jaimie."

She started to cry, drawing her knees to her chest, arms wrapping protectively around her body as her shoulders shook. Dean sat up, pulling her against his body and holding her tightly.

"Hey," he said, rubbing her back, tucking her body against his, "hey, Jaimie, sweetheart, it's okay."

"I love you," she whispered. "I do, Dean, I love you, I love you."

"Okay," he soothed, kissing the top of her head. "Then we're okay. We'll be okay."


End file.
